


Fianchetto

by threewick



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Eggsy, FIx It, Harry Remembers, M/M, Reunion Sex, Soft Harry, butterfly room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewick/pseuds/threewick
Summary: “I still don’t remember you,” Harry says in a quiet voice, and Eggsy’s stomach aches dully, as though struck by a bullet through bulletproof armor.“But I’d like to keep trying,” he finishes, and Eggsy’s eyes snap open in surprise.--Fix-it fic for the Harry/Eggsy TGC reunion that is 80% smut and 20% exasperated lepidopterist Harry saying 'bitch give me my book back.' This is what my other fic, Doubled Pawn, was intended to be.





	Fianchetto

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you love this as much I love imagining soft Harry boning Eggsy. Please leave a comment, it strokes my ego and makes me want to write more. Xoxo

It’s the fourth visit with Harry, and nothing has changed.

“ - And this one here - this is the heliconius sapho, or Sapho Longwing, and it hails from Costa Rica and certain rainforests in Belize.”

Eggsy nods along politely as Harry speaks, ever the gentleman, though the words are falling on deaf ears. He’s fucking tired of hearing about rare butterfly genera, fucking aggravated that he knows the term ‘butterfly genera’ at all. He had been certain when he saw Harry through that two-way mirror, with Statesman whiskey soaking through his Kingsman suit and his wrists ziptied together, that it was all fixed: all of their problems gone, the bruising on his heart healed, since Harry always knew just how to sort it.

Of course, he’d been very wrong.

The first visit had been rough. Eggsy had swallowed down the sharp stab of misery as Harry blinked placidly at him without even the barest trace of recognition in his gaze. The next attempt had been worse still, with Eggsy giving Merlin the slip to come see Harry alone, somehow stupidly thinking that a more intimate setting - or as intimate as you could get with a fucking two-way mirror stretching across the back wall - might make it easier for Harry to remember. It hadn’t; Harry had seemed only disgruntled that his ‘research’ was being interrupted and indulged Eggsy’s heartfelt butterfly metaphor with a terse, thin-lipped smile before insisting he needed a ‘lie down’ and sending Eggsy on his way.

The third try had been a disaster, Eggsy finding out belatedly that Ginger had tried her clever ‘triggering’ experiment and nearly _drowned_ Harry, something that seemed directly at odds with what was suggested for someone recovering from goddamn _brain trauma_. He’d ripped through the controls room in a silent fury, not even casting Ginger a backward glance as he pushed through to the hallway, moving into Harry’s room and reaching for him automatically. The gesture had seemed to perturb Harry worse than the near-drowning, something that made Eggsy’s eyes burn though he’d backed off straightaway after making sure Harry wasn’t any worse for wear.

And now it’s the fourth visit, and Eggsy feels only guilt for how bloody _bored_ he is.

“ - which is why the thorax is dark, do you see? And they only mate on one specific plant, which sets them apart from the rest of the nymphalidae family -”

Eggsy scrubs a hand over his face, the words on the page that Harry is enthusiastically showing him bleeding together around a neat rendering of yet another butterfly. He supposes he should be pleased that Harry is speaking to him at all; it had been touch and go at the start, with Harry wary around Eggsy, as though not quite sure what to make of this well-dressed boy who spoke like street trash.

Ironic, Eggsy supposes, since that’s just what Harry had liked so much about him before. He’d done a right _Pygmalion_ on him, plucked him out of a shithole and polished him until he’d shone, constantly regarded Eggsy with a quiet, possessive pride softening the corners of his eyes, the suggestion of fondness playing at the bow of his lower lip. And now it’s all gone - blasted out of his skull by Valentine’s single fucking bullet - and Eggsy is without, selfishly unable to properly rejoice in the fact that Harry has quite literally risen from the dead when it doesn’t even feel like Harry at all -

“I _beg_ your pardon, but are you even listening to me?”

Eggsy blinks back to himself, eyes widening slightly as he meets Harry’s cool, level gaze, the faint start of a frown pinched into the bridge of his nose. Harry is still holding the book out for Eggsy, their knees pressed carelessly together from where they sit, side-by-side, on the bed, Harry’s hair soft and mussed and making him look unnervingly childlike despite his fifty-plus years. It’s impressive, really, how much dressing down can be conveyed with a single eye, and Eggsy offers him a sheepish grin

“Shit, sorry - really, Harry, I was, ‘course I was, but I just… Sorry,” Eggsy tries, carding a hand through his hair. Harry studies him for a moment, skeptical, before his expression relaxes into a trusting smile and he turns back to the book.

“Yes, of course. As I was saying -”

“Hang on, Harry.”

Eggsy reaches out and splays a hand across the page Harry’s reading, earning a sweetly scandalized look in return.

“How about we talk about my thing for a bit, yeah? We did your Softy Lungwing, or wha’eva -”

“Sapho Longwing,” Harry corrects him immediately, an undercurrent of offense lining the words.

“Right, that one. But now it’s my turn. C’mon, Harry - just the game that we’ve been playing, a bit more of it. Try to help you remember. What d’you reckon?”

Harry does not look at all like he wants to play any sort of game that doesn’t involve winged insects, but he seems to realize with a final glance towards Eggsy’s hand on the page that he’s fighting a losing battle.

“Very well,” he grants in a small, long-suffering sigh, and Eggsy grins despite himself. Because sometimes, even though this is Harry-but-not, he does things that are so distinctly _Harry_ that it almost feels as though Eggsy can pretend a bit longer, steal snippets of time with this virtual stranger in Harry Hart’s skin.  
“Cheers,” Eggsy responds brightly, shifting on the bed and drawing one leg up to better see him. “Alright, Harry - let’s pick up where we left off, yeah? We was talkin’ about headquarters, the other agents and that. Do you remember?”

“I remember two days ago, yes.” There’s a sulky snappishness to Harry’s words that has Eggsy biting back a smirk despite the direness of the situation.

“But you don’t remember the rooms we was talking about? The meeting room, the green walls and the long table? What about-”

“It’s as I’ve already told you, Eggsy, I don’t remember any of it,” Harry interrupts impatiently, finally turning to look at Eggsy. His expression is a pained twist of annoyance and something else, something that makes Eggsy give pause.

“Don’t you think I’m trying? You and this - this _Merlin_ claim I’m some sort of secret agent. And while all of that sounds very nice, I don’t remember it and - and, well, frankly, I don’t want to.” 

Harry looks momentarily scandalized by what he’s admitted, but recovers quickly and plows on.

“I have no desire to go and hurt people. I want to study lepidopterology, and Ginger has already said she can put me into contact with some very good American universities. So no, Eggsy, I’m sorry, I do not want to play your game. I would like to be left alone with my book, please.”

And just like that, Harry’s hesitant agreement is gone, his hand held out expectantly for the book Eggsy now holds, closed, on his lap. Eggsy can’t quite believe what he’s just heard and he stares at Harry a moment longer, his heart feeling punched into the back of his ribs.

“But Harry -” he tries, unable to accept that this could be how Harry Hart goes out. He needs to remind him, needs to jog his memory, and he means to say ‘Harry, what about everyone at Kingsman?’ Instead, what comes out is a raw, aching,

“But Harry, what about _me_?”

At this, Harry looks taken aback.

“What about you?” he volleys back, brow furrowing together in naked confusion. Eggsy shoves a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Harry, before you - before you got shot, we was… sort of… together,” Eggsy finally says, the words that had gotten clogged in his chest for so many days finally coming free. 

Harry balks.

“Surely not.”

“Surely _yeah_ ,” Eggsy exhales, smiling weakly despite the growing hopelessness of the situation.

Harry stares at him as though he’s suddenly sprouted butterfly wings. Eggsy puts on his best ‘aren’t you lucky smile,’ which only seems to further Harry’s distress.

“But… you’re so…”

“Oi. Watch it, old man, I’m well fit,” Eggsy warns him, his expression taking on a faint mocking offense as he flexes a bit for good measure. Harry looks horrified.

“But you must be - you must be twenty years younger than me!”

“Nearly thirty,” Eggsy corrects him, a hint of cheeky pride to the words. It’s not funny, Harry having lost his memory and all, but it _is_ a little entertaining to see him clutch his pearls over a bloody age difference. Especially given that the Harry Hart Eggsy had had the brief pleasure of knowing had seemed, if anything, only further turned on by it.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry says, and Eggsy isn’t exactly surprised. He considers for a split second calling Merlin in here to verify, before remembering that Harry hardly seems to trust Merlin any more than he trusts Eggsy; that’s when a far superior idea dawns on him.

“I can prove it to you,” he promises, pushing himself up to stand in front of Harry. He studies Harry with a focused expression, and Harry eyes him warily. Even with the eyepatch he’s absurdly handsome, and Eggsy thinks back to that single, fleeting night he’d gotten to spend with Harry Hart, just before he’d failed his final test and fucked it all up.

“On your left arsecheek, you’ve got a sick scar.” Eggsy points towards the cheek in question, a smug smile playing across his lips as Harry starts. “You’ve also got a freckle on your cock - ‘s big, by the way, your cock, not the freckle - and you prefer giving to receiving. Though I’m fair sure you’d take it yourself a bit for the right bloke.” He refrains from adding ‘me.’

Eggsy is so caught up in mentally congratulating himself for this brilliant idea that he nearly misses the miracle unfolding right in front of him: the miracle that is Harry Hart, eyepatched and dressed in soft sweats, blushing furiously.

“I _beg_ your pardon,” he stammers, using the too-formal phrase for the second time and pushing Eggsy’s smirk into a full-on wolfish grin. 

“I’ve got loads more,” Eggsy half-brags, now leisurely circling the small bed as he rattles them off.

“You swear right before you come, you like it when I say ‘yes, sir,’ you like a bit of teeth in your blowjob - not too much, just a bit. You’ve not smoked since you were thirty-two but you often want a cigarette right after a fuck, you like inflicting pain but not in a fucked-up way, just a slap here and there, you-”

“ _Enough_.”

Eggsy stops in his tracks, blinking over at Harry in owlish surprise. He hadn’t even noticed that Harry was standing but he is, glaring at Eggsy and looking adorably non-threatening even as he towers. The eyepatch and the sweatsuit really detract from the overall effect.

“Why are you saying this? What do you want from me? What - why are you doing this?”

The amusement fades from Eggsy’s face as he realizes that Harry is well and truly distraught, something that is so distinctly un-Harry that it makes Eggsy’s chest hurt. He’s struck again by how vulnerable Harry looks surrounded by scribbled-on white, his hair soft and un-styled, missing an eye. Eggsy swallows thickly.

“I… Harry, I just - I want to bring you back.”

Harry looks even more dejected at these words, his eyes dark and wide and hopeless.

“But… I don’t even know you.”

The words sting like a slap but Eggsy swallows the unexpected hurt, absorbing it and closing the gap between him and Harry in two strides. He tilts his chin up to see him better, studying the lines of his face, cataloging the new ones that he doesn’t remember from before. 

“Then… I’ll just have to remind you, yeah?” He makes the offer softly, gently, reaching out and taking one of Harry’s hands, holding it between both of his as he waits for Harry to react. If he pushes him away, then that’s it for today; Eggsy will go back to saving the world without Harry by his side, as unnatural as it feels.

But if he doesn’t... 

And he doesn’t. It’s a small jerk of his chin, almost imperceptible, his eyes fixed searchingly on Eggsy’s. It’s far from desirous but it’s all the encouragement Eggsy needs, pushing up on his toes to press a soft, experimental kiss to Harry’s lips.

For a moment, there’s nothing. For a moment, Harry stays stiff and unresponsive, his hand flat and tense where it’s trapped between Eggsy’s, his body rigid.

But then Eggsy shifts the kiss gently, trying again, and Harry gives just a bit, moving his mouth to accommodate, reciprocating in the tracest sense of the word. It’s shallow and simple but it’s something, and Eggsy squeezes Harry’s hand tighter between his. 

After a moment, Harry breaks away.

Eggsy keeps his eyes closed a moment longer, tasting his lower lip and feeling a low throb in his gut when he tastes Harry.

“I still don’t remember you,” Harry says in a quiet voice, and Eggsy’s stomach aches dully, as though struck by a bullet through bulletproof armor. 

“But I’d like to keep trying,” he finishes, and Eggsy’s eyes snap open in surprise.

He sees Harry’s good eye studying him with a guarded uncertainty. He wants to reply, to say something terribly romantic, but Harry is kissing him again and fuck, that is so much better. The kiss is more thorough this time, less exploratory since they’ve kissed before; they know how to kiss one another, even if it had been a lifetime ago, even though Harry can’t even remember his full name. He still remembers this, Eggsy realizes with a surge, dropping Harry’s hand to instead seize him by the t-shirt and haul him in closer. Harry doesn’t resist it.

It’s only moments before Eggsy is opening his mouth to Harry’s, exhaling a light, encouraging noise as Harry dips his tongue against Eggy’s. He thinks fleetingly of the two-way mirror, of the fact that Ginger and Merlin could very well be watching right now, before deciding soundly that he doesn’t give two shits. Poppy bloody Adams herself could come smashing through that fucking mirror waving about the antidote and Eggsy doubts he’d stop kissing Harry. 

Overzealous as ever, Eggsy breaks the kiss to begin mouthing needily along Harry’s jaw, blood spiked by the way Harry’s breath is coming short and fast now. He isn’t like himself; Harry as Eggsy had known him would never have held so still as Eggsy did all the work, not unless it was a part of a game they were playing. Harry liked to be in charge, Harry liked to be the one to take Eggsy apart, but this could work too. It was still Harry, after all. Harry was still in there; Eggsy could draw him out. Surely Eggsy could draw him out.

Eggsy exhales a sharp, sudden breath as he noses against the curve of Harry’s neck, his tongue moving in a loose figure eight. He had just inhaled the familiar, expensive scent of Harry’s aftershave and it was a lightning rod to Eggsy’s cock, pushing him to boldly run his hands along over the familiar planes of Harry’s body. He doesn’t feel as lethal as before, the hard muscle softened from time without training, but the power is still there, latent, hidden beneath that sodding _track suit._

“Harry - Harry, let’s get this off,” Eggsy says, his words half a mumble against Harry’s neck. He’s got his hands at the split of Harry’s track jacket, is moving to push it off of Harry’s shoulders. He’s quite forgotten about his mission to help restore Harry’s memory; instead he’s reverted back to an older mission, a favorite: get into Harry Hart’s pants.

“Eggsy, this… It’s familiar, it feels… familiar,” Harry says hesitantly, and Eggsy’s heart leaps. “But… I still don’t remember properly and -”

“Mate, I don’t give a _fuck_ ,” Eggsy responds, his voice edging dangerously close to a whine as he manages to shove the jacket off of Harry’s shoulders. Harry blanches at the curse word and Eggsy can’t help the misplaced laugh that bubbles out of his chest, though he stops what he’s doing and holds both hands up in surrender.

“Look - alright, look,” he tries, half-breathless with high color flushing his cheeks. “I get it. Right? To you, I’m good as a stranger. I can see why you think shaggin’ me might not be the best idea. But - but we’ve done it once, yeah? And you say it’s helpin’ you, feels familiar. So where’s the harm in givin’ it another go, seeing if it don’t jog your memory more? I already know what you like, Harry, I can make you feel so good, god, I fucking want to-”

“Eggsy, Christ,” Harry says sharply, passing a hand over his face in the single most exasperated, Harry-esque move Eggsy’s seen him make. It’s as though he’s coming back in bits and pieces, not one fell sweep but little shards here and there, and Eggsy’s heart is pounding. He bites down hard on his lower lip, his fingers twitching with the effort it takes to keep them off Harry’s body.

“I admit that I’ve been a bit… lonely here.” 

He keeps his gaze steady on Eggsy’s, clearly giving up every word very cautiously. Eggsy doesn’t have to be a genius to know what he means by ‘lonely’; he doubts very much the butterflies are much help when it comes to getting your rocks off.

“And you are… As you said, ‘well fit.’ But, Eggsy, you seem… so unnerved already, and if I can’t remember-”

“If you can’t remember, then I’ll have one last fan-fucking-tastic lay with the man I love,” Eggsy says fiercely, refusing to be deterred by the pity in Harry’s eyes at these words. “So what say you, old man? Gonna sully my virtue or what?”

“It rather seems you intend to sully mine,” Harry responds in a crisp, cross mutter, though he doesn’t allow time for Eggsy to reply. Instead he’s pulling Eggsy in close by the front of his shirt, catching his mouth in another kiss though this one is different - this one is alight with desire and Eggsy moans shamelessly into it, bringing both hands up to fist in Harry’s hair.

It all blurs together from there. The jackets are the first to go, discarded in crumpled heaps on the floor. Eggsy’s shirt is next, with Harry yanking it over his head and then pausing for a beat to stare, exhaling a soft sigh before he’s kissing Eggsy again, deep and open. Eggsy is making an effort to take it slow, to let Harry lead, but he can’t help but grind his cock greedily against Harry’s thigh, luxuriating in the friction even through his trousers. He’s aching to take them off, to strip them both of their pants and take everything he can, but can’t quite forget the fact that the mirror there is no mirror at all.

“Harry,” Eggsy breathes, breaking the kiss. They’ve changed positions, Harry now lying flat on the solitary bed, his hands clutching the meat of Eggsy’s arse as he presses slow, heated kisses all along Eggsy’s chest.

“Hmm,” Harry acknowledges in a murmur, rolling his tongue across a nipple and causing Eggsy to bite down on a sharp sound.

“Harry, the mirror-” Eggsy begins, though the words fail and die in his throat since Harry has just chosen that moment to palm him through the front of his trousers.

Eggsy doesn’t bring up the mirror again, not until he’s got Harry’s trackies yanked down, is pressing open-mouthed kisses along the stiff line of his underwear-covered cock. Harry has one hand in his hair, is murmuring soft, gentle words of encouragement, combing his fingers lazily across Eggsy’s scalp.

“Good, Eggsy, good - such a good boy,” Harry murmurs, and it’s a punch in the gut, a line lifted right out of their last lost encounter. Eggsy falters, lifting his eyes up to Harry, thinking wildly that he’s remembered… But no. Harry frowns back at him, puzzled and politely concerned, and Eggsy blinks back the sudden burn in his eyes. It’s then that he remembers the mirror again, feels a surge of guilt at not telling Harry beforehand.

“Harry, the mirror - I meant to tell you, it’s a two-way mirror, mate, so-”

“Yes, I know,” Harry replies impatiently, bringing his hand down to cup Eggsy’s chin. “I might not remember the green walls in the bloody headquarters or who Merlin is, but I’ve at least remembered some of the basics. And if you’d like for it to continue, please - carry on. I believe you were about to suck my cock.”

Eggsy moans a loud, coarse, ‘fuckin’ ‘ell’ before ducking his head to hurriedly comply. It’s half-about the possibility that this is actually, somehow, jogging his memory, but he’d be a fucking liar if he said it wasn’t for himself, too. He should’ve known that even in a different lifetime, Harry Hart would be turned on by a bit of exhibitionism. Dirty old man.

Harry feels perfect in his mouth, hot and heavy, pressed into his tongue as Eggsy works him over with a greedy, willing throat. He hasn’t sucked cock since Harry and he somehow remembers just what he likes, just how to earn the hitched breaths and the ‘ _yes_ , Eggsy’s that make his own cock ache with frustrated, perfect need. He hollows out his cheeks and Harry tightens his hand into a fist in Eggsy’s hair, groaning and arching his back. It isn’t until he gets close - “too close,” he pants - that he pulls Eggsy off, his eyes glassy and blown, his hair even more of a soft mess than it had been before.

Eggsy stares up at him, his mouth red and kiss-bitten, his eyes wide as he stares up at Harry. It’s remarkable how this is the same man in so many ways and yet he looks entirely new, entirely changed; remarkable how, even now, Eggsy is fairly certain he’d take a bullet for him. For this quiet, nervous lepidopterist, the man Harry Hart might have been had he not become himself.

“Harry Hart, I think… I think I’d love you in any lifetime,” Eggsy says, his words unfurling as exhales over Harry’s cock. Harry regards him with a shifted expression, desire giving way to something else - guilt, maybe, or discomfort. Whatever it is, it’s not nearly as good as the open lust, and Eggsy is quick to grin, to dismiss the moment as he pushes himself up and forward, caging Harry in with his body.

“Right, you’re right - are we just going to stare at each other all day,” Eggsy says, thinking back on his first real memory of Harry, smiling to himself with a hint of melancholy, “or are we going to fuck?”

Harry’s expressions shifts from mild bewilderment to something else - something screwed up and confused, and then something unreadable. He looks almost angry, has shoved himself up onto his elbows, his trackpants yanked lewdly down around his thighs with Eggsy nestled between his legs. It’s a ridiculous tableaux but Eggsy doesn’t realize any of that; instead he’s staring at Harry, hardly daring to move - hardly daring to _breathe_ \- because there is a new, shrewd intensity in Harry’s eye that has everything in his body waiting, waiting, waiting…

“The Black Prince.”

Eggsy bites down so hard on his back teeth that he feels the ache in the back of his head.

“The bar… That was the name of the bar. Where I took you… I had a Guinness.”

Eggsy knows he’s blinking too much, knows how ludicrous this is when he’s still got the taste of Harry’s precome on his tongue.

“And… You… We… Kingsman. The tailor shop. Valentine - shit, Valentine, it’s a device, he’s got a device and we have to-”

Harry’s started to struggle now, pushing against Eggsy to stand, but Eggsy is stronger than him now, uses both hands to keep him firmly in place, talking over him.

“It’s fine, Harry - Harry, no! That’s fine, Valentine’s sorted, he’s sorted, Harry - go on, then, come on, what else’ve you got, give it to me, Harry, come on,” Eggsy pushes, his eyes very wide, ravenous as he stares at Harry’s face. Harry is staring back, his expression open and confused, studying Eggsy as though he hasn’t seen him in a very, very long time.

“You… You failed. You couldn’t shoot JB, you… It was a blank, Eggsy, it-”

“ _Yes_ , Harry,” Eggsy says, the words a half-sob, half-laugh as he keeps Harry pinned down by his forearms, his chest pressed to Harry’s pelvis.

“That’s - that’s what you said. In my office. With… the martinis, when I offered to make you martinis, when… _Oh._ ”

Eggsy stares at him, his eyes burning coals, every fiber of his being willing Harry to say something, to make it fine, to close the circle -

“And… Valentine shot me. That bastard _shot_ me. After… a church full of people, and he shot me. The morning after you and I... “

Eggsy is nodding enthusiastically, his eyes red-rimmed but his cheeks dry as he clutches Harry’s arms with grips tight enough to bruise. There’s a long pause where Harry simply stares at him, his brow furrowed as he remembers, silence stretching out between them as Eggsy holds him down. Finally, Harry breaks it.

“Eggsy, I believe I owe you an apology.” His tone is a twist of many things, too many things to discern. “I believed erroneously that I would love you forever, that I would never again be able to live without you. I planned on telling you that eventually, but… It seems getting shot in the head was enough to reshuffle my priorities. You deserve much better.”

Eggsy stares at Harry, taken aback, and then he sees it - the first crack of a smile, the break in Harry’s demeanor, the hint of humor.

And then Eggsy is sobbing, flinging himself down onto Harry’s chest, shoving his face into Harry’s neck. Harry brings his arms up immediately, holding Eggsy tight, carding his fingers through Eggsy’s hair and murmuring soft platitudes that are somehow the mosts beautiful poetry Eggsy’s ever heard.

It takes a moment for Eggsy to compose himself but he does, finally, shoving himself off of Harry and running a hand under his nose, blinking at Harry with bright eyes and a wide, sappy grin.  
“Right, I’ve had a long enough sabbatical,” Harry says, finally sitting and pulling his trousers back up. “I suppose I owe Merlin a pretty hefty apology for getting shot in the head, so-”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Eggsy says, a hand shooting out to catch Harry in the chest, shoving him back down onto the bed. “If you think you’re getting out of here without a ‘I’ve come back from the dead’ shag, you’re dead wrong, bruv.”

Harry flinches at the careless nomer.

“Eggsy, that’s a two-way mirror, you do realize that-”

“Yeah, I absolutely fuckin’ do. You didn’t care about that two seconds ago when I was suckin’ your cock and you was Harry-the-Kindly-Lepidopterist, so I sure as shit don’t believe you’re worried abou’ that now. God, I missed you. Come here.”

Harry doesn’t need telling twice. This time when they kiss, it’s everything it should’ve been before: an outpouring of longing and grief, a cascade of emotions, a torrent of need. A reunion.

And if, when Harry finally does push himself into Eggsy with a languid roll of his hips, Eggsy maybe gets a bit weepy again, he’s fairly confident he’s not the only one. Not that Harry would admit it; not that Harry would let him see, since he keeps his mouth on Eggsy’s the entire time, kissing him even as he clings to Eggsy’s thighs, holds him close as he fucks Eggsy into crescendo.

And if, when they both make themselves quickly presentable and take their leave, Ginger greets them with a bit too much artificial surprise and a knowing smirk, Eggsy maybe doesn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t give a fuck about anything, really; the entire Statesman team could’ve seen Harry Hart fuck him to pieces in that bloody butterfly room and it wouldn’t’ve mattered.

Not when Harry’s back, and Harry’s his.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the last Kingsman fic I'll write for awhile, so I hope yall like it! If you have any suggestions or ideas for more fic, please let me know on my tumblr, threewickfic. I love talking about these beautiful trash babies.


End file.
